Human Nature
by RavenHeart101
Summary: What makes a human? Is it a genetic code? Or is it simply the ability to feel? Or, most of all, is it the ability to love? It's the year 4015 and the order to kill all clones has been issued. It's only too bad that Blaine Anderson is determined to have exactly the opposite happen. Klaine and Plaine. M for reasons.


Human Nature

By: RavenHeart101

_**dis·claim·er: **__/disˈklāmər/_

_Noun:_

_A statement that denies something, esp. responsibility._

_An act of repudiating another's claim or renouncing one's own._

_Synonyms:_

_denial - renunciation - disavowal - waiver - abnegation_

Summary: What makes a human? Is it a genetic code? Or is it simply the ability to feel? Or, most of all, is it the ability to love? It's the year 4015 and the order to kill all clones has been issued. It's only too bad that Blaine Anderson is determined to have exactly the opposite happen.

**A: N –** Don't hate me for starting another story. And one that's not Plaine too. Ugh. I blame Doctor Who for this plot. Blame Doctor Who.

* * *

The clones were created in a lab off the cost of Russia by a team of German, Russian, Korean, English, and American scientists. It was a hidden quest – something that the governments kept quiet from the public. They were created on November 17th, 3342 at 6:17 in the morning. The first person to ever be cloned was a homeless man that had just been shot and subsequently killed outside of their lab named Yusaf Transmoski.

His clone died a week later.

The science was perfected through many a human-trial, and on March 23rd, 3567 at 4:30 in the afternoon the first full functioning clone walked the earth.

By that time the people of each country had caught wind of what was happening and uproar was starting throughout the world. The governments decided to put an end to the testing and ruled to shut down the lab, raiding the small space of science and killing everyone in the area and seizing their instruments for their own use. Including all of the scientists but Harvey Brustier and the clone of Natasha Mulinski.

The governments lied to their people and told them that clones were not being made because it was unethical yet created super-soldiers for their armies. A never ending supply of soldiers that could simply die in placement of the deaths of actual people. It was fool proof plan.

Until an army general's son died and he decided to use their technology to ease his pain the best way he knew. He recreated his son.

So began the black market system of cloning. It was as sophisticated as any black market system could be, run completely underground and fully functioning when Claire Anderson stumbled in the night of January fourth, 4011. Her elegant blue skirt was covered in blood – her youngest son's blood – staining the fabric an ugly and disturbing brown. A man in an EMT outfit followed closely behind, wheeling the battered body of a fourteen year old boy after him urgently.

They didn't have much time before the process would be unable to be completed.

Claire knew the science was risky – and all kinds of illegal – but by now everyone knew it existed. And everyone knew that once the cloning process began there was no way to put an end to it without killing the new clone.

They weren't seen as people in the eyes of the public – they were seen as creations. Things that could be played with. They were seen almost like play-doh or fancy art molding clay. They could be anything a person wanted. They could have all their donor's memories or they could only have some. But they would, essentially, become that person.

The process was expensive – less expensive than an atomic bomb but more expensive than a Hollywood blockbuster – and Claire was prepared to spend as much money as was needed.

She wasn't prepared to live without her son in her life.

The woman at reception rushed them into a room, barking out orders to streaming in scientists and doctors and nurses and volunteers to retrieve what they needed as quickly as they could. They were working on a time limit with this one. More often than not, the dead were brought in too late and were not able to be recreated.

Luckily, they had gotten there on time.

Claire and the EMT were pushed out into the waiting room as a paper was drawn over the window and blocking out all sounds and sight into the room. With shaking hands the EMT handed over the bag of personal belongings they had found on her son when they had arrived at the scene, shook her hand, and left. Claire fell back against the dark wash walls and slid down to the concrete floor. It was cold in here and it felt nothing like a hospital was supposed to feel but, then again, this was no hospital. No ordinary hospital anyway.

She waited for seven hours until the process was finished.

A man in a white laboratory jacket took her credit card number and ran it over a scanner, deducting the money that was needed for the process. Than he shook her hand, congratulated her on the re-birth of her youngest son, and walked her outside where the clone of her son was being wheeled into another ambulance to be driven to a real hospital.

Claire asked to see the body of her son – of her real son, even though this creation was her new real son now. The scientist smiled softly at her and told the ambulance to go ahead of them, leading her into the disposal room. Claire wasn't sure what it was that she wanted to do, but when she walked into the brightly lit room and caught sight of her son's naked and battered chest she couldn't help the strangled sound that passed through her lips. "I assure you, ma'm, it was all done due to your specifications. All memories and knowledge was transferred over. All injuries were given to the double, just lowered in severity." The man spoke softly to her, his hand a steadying weight on her shoulder.

She nodded with a shaky breath before stepping closer and placing a hand atop the curly hair atop her youngest son's head. Tears leaked down her tan cheeks, leaving a red line in their place. Claire was momentarily shocked by how cold his skin was as she ran her hand down his pale cheek, trying not to cry out at the thought that they used to be as tan as hers. It was funny what death could do to a person.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Rest well, my child." She wiped at her cheeks. "Mommy loves you."

Claire stayed and watched as they set her son's body on fire. She watched as, in a matter of seconds he turned from a full flesh and blood human being, to a few specks of dust and placed into a locket and handed to her. She wiped the tears from her eyes and shook hands with the scientist.

"It was exactly to my specifications?" She checked once more.

"Yes ma'm." The man reassured as he lead her outside into the night.

"Meaning you got rid of that pesky problem of his sexuality?" She wiped at her cheeks furiously, trying to push back all evidence that she had been crying.

The scientist paused, his step faltering, a curious look on his face. "That ma'm… is all up to God."

"How can you say that He exists and do something like this for a living?" She shot back, swinging her car door shut behind her, pressing her finger against the scanner to start the car and telling the computer where it was she wanted to go.

"Sexuality isn't something that can be simply altered. Just like true gender." The scientist dismissed her. "Goodnight ma'm."

Claire Anderson drove away with a frown on her face, thinking over what the man had told her with clear disapproval.

The hospital was busy when she pulled into the emergency room, stepping out of her car so that it could park itself. Her eldest son was pacing inside, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and hand pressed against his mouth. Her husband was sitting in one of the stiff emergency room chairs. Claire walked with a purpose, giving the reception desk the name of her youngest son and then making her way over to her son and husband.

She was startled when she touched the skin on the double's hand later that night – or early in the morning the next day. She wasn't entirely sure since she hadn't slept – pulling her hand way from his faster than lightning. He was so warm, yet there was tinge of cold that resided underneath it. Her eldest watched her was calculated, almost insulted eyes as he pulled his brother's double's hand into his own, tears still heavy in his blue eyes.

Yet her eldest was good at reading people – better than Claire herself – and he knew when his mother felt guilty. "What's wrong, mom?" He asked softly, so not to disturb the unsuspecting clone.

The unsuspecting clone that wouldn't wake up for two more days – possibly six more because of the injuries he had sustained – just like all clones. "Two to six days." She whispered, sitting back in the hospital chair and never letting her eyes stray from the form that was nearly identical to her youngest son as he lay in the hospital bed.

The hospital's machines wouldn't pick up on the fact that he was double – in fact, no one would but the government since she had taken him to the best clinic there was, so Claire wasn't quite sure why she felt so uneasy and unsettled.

Maybe it was because that wasn't really her son she was looking down at.

Maybe it was because of the way Cooper asked her in a soft and horrified voice what it was that she had done.

Maybe it was because she could not simply tell her son and husband that she had done nothing.

Either way, Claire Anderson felt as though she should still be mourning the death of her son while everyone else was celebrating the grand healing of Blaine Anderson.

* * *

The first day of Senior Year after winter break at Dalton Academy for Boys was one that Blaine had been looking forward to for years. Ever since he was in grade school, as a matter of fact. Not that he had always dreamed that he would be going to Dalton, more like Senior Year in general.

It was as though he was on a high when he stepped through the doors of the prestigious private school, a cup of coffee in his hand and a spring in his step. He walked straight through the doors that were set on open for the students, the scanner running over his eye for a brief imprint before saying a joyful welcome.

Blaine smiled as he walked into the cafeteria, placing his cup down onto the almost empty table and wrapping his arms around his best friend that was still at the school – Nick Duval – in a tight hug. They pulled away after a moment, taking in the boring uniforms – though not nearly as boring as the ones public school kids had to wear everyday – and the unique yellow patch on each of their blazers signifying their participation in the Warblers.

"How was your summer, man?" Nick asked, slinging his school bag over his shoulder and taking a quick sip out of Blaine's coffee cup with a grateful smile.

"Boring as usual." Blaine stated dryly, throwing the cup into the trash can where it was automatically recycled into a bag for their lunches. "Cooper came down for a bit, proceeded to tell me how much work I need. My mother refused to touch me, and my father couldn't stand being in the same room as me." Not that Blaine was looking for any sort of pity party; the comments were said with a small hint of humor in his voice, betraying all fact that the behavior was more than a little bit painful and confusing. They had never used to be like that before – of course, Cooper used to be a little hard on him, but he had made some sort of effort to be kind. Apparently he wasn't willing to extend that courtesy anymore.

"Not as though it's been any better for me." Nick said with a snort as they walked through their door for their history class, smiling briefly at the teacher before walking over to their chairs and falling into them with a sigh.

"I heard Jeff got to go to China for his birthday." Blaine tried to keep all sort of envy from his voice because he wasn't envious of his and Nick's blonde friend. No, he wasn't envious of Jeff for anything more than the fact that his family seemed to even remember his birthday.

Nick nodded with a small bounce of his body on his white corner chair. "Yeah. He apparently ran into these hot Asian chicks but was freaked out when he found out that one of them was an illegal double." Blaine winced in sympathy.

"Everyone's an illegal double, nowadays." Thad pointed out as he slid into the open seat beside them. "Imagine if one of us was a double." He waggled his fingers in what was supposed to be a scary manner. "Oooo."

Blaine laughed, hitting Thad's shoulder to quiet him down as the lights dimmed, signaling the beginning of class. "You're insane, Thad." He assured his friend.

"What if Blainers is the double?" Nick egged on, leaning in and poking at Blaine's cheek.

"That's crazy, Nicky." Blaine poked him right back. "If anyone's going to be a double it's going to be you." He winked at his dark haired friend.

Thad punched Nick lightly in the shoulder, laughing as he did so. "Oh Nicky it would totally make sense."

"Screw off." Nick's face heated in embarrassment – much like many of their classmates' faces would heat if they were being teased about possibly being a double. Perhaps the most disturbing and scary thing about the situation of doubles was that while many knew whether they were not, there were always ones that did not. There were always ones that had the mark – two identical birth marks bleeding into one another – hidden in a place where they could not even identify it. Blaine remembered when they were children and they would hear news reports of double's being found and thrown in jail. He remembered when they would search one another in the school yard for the incriminating evidence. He remembered when they would search themselves in front of a mirror every night because you would never know when you would become one. You could be a human one day and a double the next.

It was all rather terrifying if you were to ask him.

The teacher called for silence and the giant screen in the front of the room turned on, the windows darkening to shut out all possible light beside what streamed in through the screen.

Images and words popped up in a manner of seconds, their eyes not moving from the screen as the information flowed into their brains to be processed in a matter of minutes.

The screen faded to black, the windows automatically lightening and the students' eyes drifting down to their empty pages pulled up on their tablets. Everything that their brains had absorbed was transferred down onto the computerized pages in a manner of seconds, bleeding onto the tablet like a pen running out of ink – if anyone used pens nowadays anyway for anything besides legal documents. Some students notably had less information than others and, honestly, Blaine's was probably the longest out of all his classmates.

There were many odd things about Blaine Anderson, but his ability to remember things vividly was something that his friends both envied and feared.

It wasn't a normal talent, remembering. It wasn't particularly abnormal either, but when it came to the _way_ that Blaine remembered things it was a tad startling. Ask him anything. From the day he was born to now and he could answer the question with surprising detail. It was as though after the attack a switch had been triggered in his brain and he could suddenly remember everything. Every word ever spoken, every action ever made, every breath that he had breathed.

It scared his friends, and, at times, he scared him too.

"I'm so going to have to borrow your notes, man." Thad said with a heavy sigh, looking from Blaine's pages on his tablet to his with a frown of disappointment. Try as he might, Thad's brain didn't seem to have the same sort of capabilities that Blaine's did.

Perhaps that was why Blaine was first in their class by the highest GPA that any student had ever had at Dalton Academy. Not the highest GPA in the world, but rather close.

He toyed with the golden locket around his neck, nodding and agreeing to let Thad borrow his notes with a small laugh. Sometimes he wished he could open the locket his mother had gifted him with when he had woken up from his coma four years ago. There was just something that was compelling him to do just that.

They stood up to leave when the bell went off twenty minutes later, signaling the end of class, their tablets fading into their desk to be transferred to their next classroom, and Nick throwing his bag over his shoulder.

Only, suddenly, Blaine couldn't breathe, his neck starting to feel as though it was on fire.

He fell backwards, stumbling over his chair and gasping and clawing at his neck. His body collided with that of their student teacher, the girl – only a year older than Blaine himself, it seemed – grabbing hold of his arm with a surprisingly strong grip. She had beautiful eyes and Blaine maybe had harbored a ton of respect for the blonde since the moment he had seen her but that was a topic completely unrelated to the fact as to why he couldn't breathe.

He scratched at the burning skin under his ear, his eyes watering with the pain he was feeling, his ears barely registering any sound beside the noise of his own body that was seemingly malfunctioning.

His hand pulled away from his ear bloody, his body shaking for the small bit of air that he could reach. "What's going on?" He heard from somewhere to his right, Nick's voice frantic as the student teacher lowered Blaine to the ground as slowly as she could.

Her hand was burning hot against his already hot skin and all he could see was her blue eyes gazing down at him with something a kin to panic.

"Quinn?" The teacher called out from his spot at the desk. "Please step away from him and come to the front of the room."

She made no motion to leave, her eyes stuck on his and her hand slowly petting over his hair.

"Quinn!" The teacher snapped, but still she did not move.

"_What are you doing?!_" Thad yelled from somewhere to his right as some other figures came into his line of sight. These ones were dressed head to toe in white, which was not a very flattering color on many people.

"M'am, please step away from the double." One of the men – or women, you could never be sure with their perpetual tone of voice – reached out to touch the student teacher (Quinn)'s shoulder and pull her away but something stopped them.

"Double?" Nick's voice was on verge of panic. "Blaine's not a double! He doesn't have any of the markings!"

Only he did have the marking. It was just in a place he never could have been sure was actually there or not. And the locket… it was all making sense. Even if he never wanted it to make sense.

"Please move out of the way or we will have to make you move." One of the others said in the same boring monotonous voice.

Quinn set her lips in a thin line. "Do you want to live?" She asked him quietly, her breath ghosting over his face due to their close proximity. Blaine wasn't sure if he was actually seeing her or not – all he could really focus on where her eyes – and the world was extremely foggy and breathing was suddenly not that important on his list of things to do anymore, sleep winning out.

He didn't say anything, but his eyes must have showed the answer she was looking for because she was pulling something out of her blouse and pressing a button, leaning over him close as enraged cries sounded from above them.

The world faded to black before Blaine could see the classroom dissolve into another room entirely before his eyes.

* * *

On January 26th, 4015 the governments of the world declared that all clones – or doubles as they usually were referred to by the public – were to be sought out and executed. The governments released the gas into the air systems of every school, business, or place of living and employment. By complete circumstance Quinn Fabray decided to save the life of Blaine Anderson's double.

On January 27th, 4015 nearly 23,000 members of the world's population were killed systematically and without remorse.

On January 28th, 4015 the doubles began fighting back.

* * *

**A: N –** So… anyone interested? Opinions greatly appreciated and loved and treasured forever.

Kurt will be in the next chapter, as will Rachel and Finn and Burt and Carole and Santana and basically everyone else (and sorry all my Plaine fans but I can't possibly make every story Plaine. No matter how much I wanna. Still give this story a chance? –begs).


End file.
